


empty spaces

by barryallens



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6758971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barryallens/pseuds/barryallens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is raining when Oliver encounters him, and unexpected. (college au, teen for some moderate swearing)</p>
            </blockquote>





	empty spaces

If there is anything Oliver Queen can say about college, it's that he loves it. It isn't the learning he enjoys- rather, the independence, the liberation. The ability to party all night, sleep half the day is the kind of freedom Oliver loves, and craves. At college, there is nothing he can't do, not with energizing blasts of music and the swarms with which he socializes cheering him up. 

Though the same can't be said about the actual education, Oliver must admit college is much improved from the dreary mood of high school. With everyone away from their pasts and hometowns, the learning is a bit more enthused. 

For Oliver, being away from Star City means away from trauma, away from the place where his parents died. It's easy to forget such pain when you're drunk and having fun. 

* * *

 

It is raining when Oliver Queen encounters him again, and unexpected. 

"I'm sorry, do you remember me?" 

Oliver barely hears the question, the drip of rain on stone loud in his ears. The rain is fast and sleek, the thin droplets leaving no surface untouched. Perhaps it is merely choice, but he ignores the meek voice, anxious to return somewhere warm and dry. He's never had a good experience with cold climates, especially not after the Lian Yu "reflective trip". 

The voice persists, higher and more desperate. "Excuse me, Oliver! Oliver Queen?" 

The voice nearly cracks in an attempt to be heard. 

Oliver snaps his head around, distraught. "Yes, what is it?" With his words, the rain comes down harder and swarms of students scurry inside the closest buildings, trying to stay warm. The rain is cold, crisp, but far from refreshing, with the drops soaking effortlessly. "Do you need something from me?" 

Oliver's questioner is a younger man, around twenty years old, with fluffy brown hair and a perplexed smile. He stands in the rain, expression anxious and bewildered. He shows none of the ever-evident confidence many other students tend to display. 

It takes Oliver a moment to recognize the boy. "... Hey, you're in my dorm building, right? Bart or something." 

Oliver has a sneaking suspicion that he has seen him somewhere else- did they go to high school together? did Oliver work with him on a project last year?- but he isn't sure. Despite being bad with people, he is good with faces. This face, however... Oliver just can't seem to place it. 

"Um, yes, my name is Barry. Barry Allen." The younger boy corrects, rubbing his hand through his hair nervously. His hair flattens in response, the waves of hair strangely mesmerising. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I had an important matter to talk about. With you. Regarding you." 

Oliver frowns, unsure. The boy's worried tone is unsettling, and unnecessary. There is no need to fear talking, of all things, Oliver decides. 

"Can it wait? I have somewhere to be, and in this rain isn't really a great spot for discussion." He hopes the younger man will take the hint, and leave him alone.

"Yes, I'm in Room 22 if you want to talk sooner. If that isn't weird. You probably have a ton of work to do." The response comes eagerly, as if Oliver had provided him with a straight-out yes as an answer.

"Yeah, sure." Oliver agrees, not fully listening, "Tons of work." He hardly feels bad, ditching the kid in the rain. The kid -Barry- should know better, after all- what former playboy has time for school work? Oliver can hardly believe his lie worked so easily.  

He sprints to his dorm building, unaware that Barry is still there, standing half-drenched, half-bewildered as the rain slows. "Talk to you later." he repeats before walking away.

When Oliver returns to his dorm room he is wet, a scowl adorning his face. The rain has stopped, for the most part, but it is Ollie's attitude that has not calmed. He tosses his bag on the floor, a storm brewing inside him. 

His roommate, Tommy Merlyn, sits smirking on a blue-sheeted bed. The covers are a mess, as is most of the boy's room, but he remains unfazed as he glances at his dump. "Where've you been, Ollie?" 

"Oh, you know, nowhere. Just in the rain, being pestered by some stranger." Oliver is scornful, annoyed by his friend's curiousity. 

Tommy laughs, lighthearted as ever. Oliver's best friend since youth, Tommy is only amused by Oliver's increasingly violent temper. "All the girls trying to get your number? Poor Ollie." He pauses thoughtfully. "Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if that was it." 

Oliver unpacks his backpack and places his books on his desk. The upper books are spotted with water droplets, still moist, and the text is only slightly blurred. "Thank god for hardcovers." he mutters, before turning back to his dark-haired roommate. 

Tommy stands up, paces the floor before pushing a hand through his short, floppy hair. "So, what was this mysterious stranger pestering you about?" He furrows his eyebrows, actually concerned. 

Oliver snorts, cracking a rare smile. "Worried, are we?"

"Guilty as charged. Don't want you being stolen away, right? I mean, I have lost enough." Tommy says, "Could actually break me this time, and we all know how much that would please the professors." Tommy, per usual, is rambling gleefully. 

Amused, Oliver shakes his head. "It was nothing serious," he admits, "Just some kid from our dorm. A year or two younger than us, I think. And his name was Bart, maybe- No, it might have been Barry. Anyways, he wanted to know if I remembered him. Looked kind of familiar; he was slim, with brown hair, doe eyes- but honestly, I could hardly recall him."

Tommy purses his lips, a frown forming. "You don't mean Barry Allen?" 

"Excuse me, who?" 

"You don't remember that whole gay freakout you had in high school?"

"Um." Oliver replies wisely. 

Other than being insulted, Oliver is honestly rather confused. First, Tommy _can't_ be homophobic, right? and second, what the hell is Tommy even talking about? Oliver's sure his memory is near perfect, save a few embarrasments from middle school he's sworn to forget about.

When he thinks, though, Oliver recalls more- he remembers an oddly strong infatuation, Moira's angry talk, "Ollie, hun, I'm not mad- just disapointed." and Thea's childish delight over his makeout session with a freshman named- 

Oh. Basically, Oliver is completely and absolutely fucked. 

"Oh." he repeats. He doesn't know how he'd forgotten about Barry Allen so easily.

Tommy nods, "Remember? Your mom was soo pissed."

Oliver considers. True, Moira had ultimately been ashamed. Oliver remembers the awkward meet, after rumours had spread when Oliver had first kissed Barry. 

_"Tell me it isn't true, hun." she had said. "Or maybe you were just a little drunk? I know you said that class trip changed you, but this can't be what you meant."_

_"I was drunk- but no, that isn't why I-" Oliver had attempted._

_Moira had pursed her lips, smiled. "No, that must of been it. Honey, you must know that I understand you being a -what do you kids call it- oh, a player, but this is just going too far."_

_Oliver had walked away, frustrated and confused. The next thing he knew, Barry had refused to talk to him, and was gone from most of his classes._

"Moira was mad... but honestly, after dad died, she was mad about everything." Oliver's expression sours at the thought of his parents. 

Tommy nods sympathetically. "Sorry, man. So what are you going to do?" 

Oliver shrugs, glancing at his hand. He's somehow been drumming it against his paper-covered desk, trying to think. He stops abruptly, frowning. 

"Well, why do you think he was trying to talk to you? Do you think he still likes you?" Tommy asks helpfully. He pauses, contemplating. "I think the real question is, do you still like him?" 

Oliver narrows his eyes. "Tommy, that was a long time ago." he answers briefly, pushing off of his light coloured blankets. "I'm going for a run. I'll do homework later." 

He slips his sneakers back on, knotting the laces together quickly. 

"You never answered the question." The dark haired man reminds Oliver, his voice struggling to stay low in a careful attempt not to tease his friend. 

Oliver's response is abrubt, but honest. "I know. I think that's the problem." 

* * *

 

When Oliver exits his dorm building, the weather is much improved. The sky glows a faded blue, swirled with splashes of white and  charcoal gray. Only a few drizzles of rain continue their descent. Overall, however, most everything has dried, leaving only the pavement damp and puddling. 

Oliver glances at the surviving clouds, his mouth twisting. The clouds are thin and wispy, floating almost ominously. 

It'll rain again soon, Oliver thinks. A hatred of wet, chilly climates isn't the only thing he's taken away from Lian Yu. 

Staring at the pavement, he places his feet apart. His right foot slides in front of its companion, pushing into the ground.

Releasing a breath, Oliver begins to run. 

 The air has lost its humidity, getting replaced with a light chill that stings against his face when he goes against the current. It is a nice day for running, Oliver decides. Pleasant thoughts such as those are the only ones he will allow himself to come up with. 

I love Star City, he adds, but even that thought harbors darkness. The city hasn't been called Star for long– only after the death of friend Ray Palmer was it changed. 

When that thought fades from his memory, Oliver realizes that in the emptied campus, he has caught up to another runner. 

While Oliver is struggling to run without anyone (or anything) chasing him other than his own demons, the other jogger is keeping pace effortlessly. Even in the quiet, he realizes that the rapid huffing is only coming from his own throat.  A mild hum is the solitary noise to escape the other runner's vocal cords. 

Oliver glances at his surroundings, and can't help but notice how the clouds are clearing, the dew that perches on the nearby railings... or the other runner. 

The other runner must notice Oliver's eyes trailing him, because his head turns briefly behind him. "Slowpoke!" He calls back, flirting enthusiastically.

"Show-off." The blond retorts. The flirtations are welcome, but Oliver refuses to take an insult.

Oliver's pace increases, but the other person is faster. It is only when the other stops that he can catch up. 

"So," the other man begins, "how does it feel to get your ass beat?" 

The man turns around, and when Oliver looks, it is none other than Barry Allen. Barry seems surprised when it is Oliver behind him, too. 

 "Oh my god! Um. Oliver." Barry says, startled. He gasps, flustered and amazed and oozing more confidence than he was before. His flirtations disappear completely, and Barry acts as if they never occurred. 

Oliver shrugs. "I wasn't aware we were racing, Barry." 

Barry laughs, running a hand through his copper hair. "Ah, well." 

 There is a pause, awkward and lengthy. Oliver himself is a fan of silence, but he can tell the other man does not feel the same. He stands fidgeting, moving so quickly he nearly vibrates. 

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Oliver asks. It's as good a time as ever to bring up the subject. 

Barry's dimples fade as his face falls. "I wanted to apologize. I heard about Ray's death. I know you guys were close." he thinks, adding, "And your mother's death, too. I'm pretty sure I ruined your relationship with her." 

"I don't think so." The words surprise Oliver. He sits down on the library stairs, joining Barry. "She ruined it long before I dated you— kissed you— whatever happened." 

The quiet repeats, but this time it is nicer, and much less awkward. Oliver stares as the campus, the corners of his mouth quirking up. No matter how painful the thought is, Star City truly is beautiful. 

But whrn Oliver glances at the setting sun, his lips purse. He pushes off of the stairs, stretching. "I'm sorry, Barry, but I've got to go." 

For some reason, he is reluctant to leave. Perhaps it is memories of high school that draw him back, but Oliver shrugs to fight off the unwillingness. 

"That's okay." The copper-haired man responds, "If you ever want to see me again, just remember that I'm in Room 22. If you want to talk, I mean. Not- no, whatever. Thanks for talking, Oliver." Barry blushes, then shakes his head sadly. "I, ah, missed you." 

"Bye, Barry." Oliver agrees. 

The pair turns around, each facing opposite directions, and walk back. 

* * *

 When Barry gets home that night, he is smiling radiantly. 

"What's the occasion, Bar? How was Iris' party?" Joe West asks, glancing up from the couch. He waves at his adopted son, a cup dangling in his hand.

Barry shrugs, joining Joe on the soft grey couch. "I didn't go, actually. I got... distracted when I was running, and by then I figured I was too late. Anyway, I wouldn't want to interrupt her or Eddie." 

"Well, haven't seen you smile like that since..." Joe pauses, a frown dampening his features. 

"Since what, Joe?" 

Normally, Barry would be insulted by his father's quick-to-judge concern, but his eyes laugh mischievously. 

 Joe is slow to answer, a frown still decorating his face. "Since you were dating... specifically when you dated  _Oliver Queen_." he ventures, "I don't mean to jump to conclusions, but doesn't he go to the same college as you? Don't tell me you're seeing him again. Or, are you seeing anyone?"

 "And what if I am?" The question is childish, sure, but meeting Oliver again has left him with adrenaline. "Please don't tell me you're still mad at him. Things ended between us years ago." 

 "So... You aren't seeing him." Joe checks cautiously. 

His son releases a sigh, waving his hands loosly. "Yes... no... I'm not dating Oliver, if that's what you're asking, but I have seen him recently." 

Joe's eyebrows furrow. "Barry, I told you, he's dangerous. You must stay away from him, for your own good." 

"Yeah, okay, Joe." Barry says, "But... I just don't see how you can still hate Oliver. His parents  _died,_ Joe. He's lost a lot. You can't think he's still the same guy I dated in high school, can you?"

His father doesn't answer, only shakes his head roughly. 

Barry gasps, "Come on, Joe!" 

Joe answers sagely. "Bar, I really don't want you to see that boy. I don't think I ask that much of you, so please." 

Barry repeats, frowning, "Okay." 

Internally, though, Barry hasn't decided whether or not to see Oliver again, because he left that up to Oliver himself. Oliver's presence would not be unwelcome - Barry forgave him ages ago -  but the real question is, did Barry ever even get over him? 

"I'm going to go to bed." Barry tells Joe, starting up the wooden stairs, " I think I'll just watch some Netflix or something?" 

He races up the wooden stairs, anxious to be in his room. 

Once there, he flops onto his bed, releasing a weighted sigh. "Ugh." he declares, "ugh." 

Barry really has to wonder what makes his romantic life so confusing. First, struggling with the fact that Iris doesn't like him for half his life, then Oliver, then Oliver again? Someone just doesn't want me to be happy, Barry thinks scornfully. 

Barry snorts at the thought. "Wow, I'm melodramatic." he remarks quietly. 

He glances at his dresser, adorded by three photos. In one portrait, Henry and Nora Allen stand smiling, cradling a miniscule Barry in their arms. Barry quickly looks away from that photo, wiping away a slippery tear. He's still not even close to coming to terms with his biological mother's death.

In the others, Barry's past crushes grin. Iris' smile is wide, but Oliver's smiling portrait is the one that makes him want to cry and laugh simultaneously. 

Even though their relationship was brief, Barry remembers that Oliver was never one to smile to his eyes. The photo had captured a rare moment- Oliver grinning without Barry nearby. 

Resigned, the blond flips all of the photos down, avoiding the glistening, watchful eyes. 

Barry takes a deep breath, hoping to releive himself of the day's confusion, nostalgia, emotion. His life concerning Oliver Queen, whether or not feelings still exist, can wait for another day. 

"Goodnight." he whispers to the silence, "goodnight." 

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> please enjoy and have a wonderful day, lovelies!
> 
> !!! also, an important note regarding the story! you know who (not gonna spoil just in case) is NOT dead in this fic because that person did not deserve it !!! tommy is also alive bc he too was too pure. 
> 
> tumblr @tcmmymerlyns pls come talk to me


End file.
